


Crossed Paths

by Ahmerst



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M, anything you can mayor I can mayor better, hell yeah Animal Crossing AU, rating will go up in future chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:46:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2506649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahmerst/pseuds/Ahmerst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turning to video games to help fend off the loneliness in his life, Aoba finds that it's less of an escape, and more of a way to meet people. Even if those people are weird little brats he doesn't really get. It's better than nothing, he supposes. Much, much better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Aoba tells himself games are for children, because they are. He also tells himself he's a child. Sort of. At heart at least, especially when he's standing in a game shop, reading over the backs of sleek cases and figuring out what to buy. He wasn't even supposed to have gotten a DS to begin with, but it was flashy and new, and a nonsensical part of him had grown stronger lately and had somehow convinced him that the act of buy, buy, _buy_ would replace the lonely ache that had started to hollow out his chest.

And that cold hollow had been replaced, right up until he realized he didn't have any games to go with the system. So here he was, pretending to be shopping for a nephew that didn't exist while trying to avoid the vaguely overbearing shop staff that seemed to know exactly how clueless he was.

One of the games has a bright and welcoming cover that calls to him, small animals of all types toiling away behind a human. He glances at the back. The game promises him a fresh start as a mayor, a leader to the cute critters. Nice, a game where he could act like he knew what he was doing. He could dig that. Maybe he could even end up a tyrant. That might be fun too.

"Looks like you got the last one," the cashier says as she rings him up. She looks like she’s checked out two months ago from this job. "A real popular one."

She gestures then, and Aoba turns his head to follow her hand. The door is swinging open and outward, a man whose distinguishing features were that he seemed to have a fanatic love of black, white, and green exiting quickly. Aoba assumes he's bought the same game.

He doesn't think much of the man after that. Not after he’s left the shop himself, plastic bag in hand. Not after he’s peeled off the cellophane wrapping and tossed it in the trash, or after he spends twenty minutes debating his town's name before crumpling under his own unoriginality and typing in 'Midorijima.'

What he does think about is how dumb his character looks when it steps off the train to be welcomed by the village residents. Some of them look a little dumb too, but endearingly so. Like dogs with melted margarine faces.

He's not entirely sure how it happens, but it takes him all of fifteen minutes to fall massively into debt. It's a little too realistic a turn for him, and he thinks it's very unfair for a raccoon-looking guy to start charging him out the ass like this. He is the mayor, after all.

He makes sure to introduce himself to them as such, going so far as to post a letter on the communal board. He states he will be kind and just as long as they don't cramp his style, and give him 20% of their income. His very sweet and affable secretary tells him he's at 100% approval rating after this. Aside from the punch to the gut debt, being a mayor doesn't seem all that bad.

He spends the rest of the evening getting to know his residents, runs simple errands for them in return for bits and baubles, pieces of fruit and hand me down clothes. A rhino gives him a rocking chair and he considers that a good payment.

As night falls in game and out, his villagers turn in as his real neighbors shut their windows and draw their curtains. Aoba rubs sleepily at his eyes as he knocks on doors, reads messages that the occupants are resting. He runs along the shopping strip only for it to be dark and empty.

The only animal he finds awake is a smartly dressed dog. It spouts off a few lines about showcasing homes, and he activates the function in spite of his own meager tent home. Let people see the inside, let them bask in his rhino-given rocking chair.

He just hopes no one can steal it. That would be awful.

When his eyes begin to burn from exhaustion and the red, drained light comes on his DS, he decides it's time for bed. Plugging it in to charge for the night, Aoba curls on his side. His eyelids grow heavy as he brings his covers up to his chin, reviewing his day.

He thinks about work and the bratty kids that are forever underfoot. He thinks about his purchases, and the new responsibility he's taken on to govern cute little animals that were bad at easy tasks. He doesn't think about how the game was going to change his life, but that was only because he doesn’t know it will. Not yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two chapters in one day since they're on the shorter side. Plus I already have the entire fic done, so I'll likely post a new chapter every few days to spread out the reading a bit from now on.

Aoba knows he shouldn't bring the game to work, but he knows there are a lot of things he shouldn't do. Like hitting the snooze button three times. Like wearing the same jeans three days in a row because he doesn’t think anyone will notice. Like staring at the ass of the fashion disaster in front of him while he waits for the light to turn.

He blames the last one on the fact that there are ragged patches on the pockets of the aforementioned ass. They're supposed to be little green rabbit heads, he thinks. If rabbits stopped craving Trix, and started jonesing for something a lot harder. 

He does all these things and more that he's not supposed to, so when he pats his DS in his pocket as he unlocks the store that morning, it hardly strikes him as bad. He tells himself he'll only play on his breaks, anyway.

He's a dirty, filthy liar.

Each lull in the store is filled with him opening his DS, the joints making a soft snap as the screen is set into place. Each time his village is waiting for him, clock synced to real time, passing at the same lazy rate. His villagers are entirely happier to see him than his customers, and provide him with much more interesting errands to run.

When a green light pulses on the corner of his DS, Aoba watches it with interest. He rolls his lower lip between his teeth as he wonders what it means. It seems to have no reflection on the game itself, and he makes a mental note to look it up on his coil later.

He forgets all about it as he sets to being the best mayor he can. He gathers fruit for villagers, waters their flowers. He fishes up trout and sea bass, donates them to the museum for the enrichment of the community. He's not half bad at this mayor thing. Considers himself nearing on upstanding when he pays off the remainder of his debt on his little tent. His blood pressure jolts a few points when he finds out that invites an upgrade he can't refuse. Literally. The stupid raccoon guy insists.

Aoba narrows his eyes at the screen. He's the mayor here, the decision maker. But it's forced upon him regardless, and he figures at the very least he'll look a little more mayoral on his part to anyone who sees his home.

Oh, right. He did tell that dog other people could look into his home. He wonders if that means he can see there pads as well. Maybe that's what that green light was about.

Aoba Seragaki, future Sherlock Holmes.

His deductions are put on hold when the door opens, and he snaps his DS closed with an airy, startled smile as a customer enters. He rattles off the usual welcome, feigns interest in their needs as he answers their questions. It's nearly time for him to take his lunch once he's finished ringing them up, and he rests a hand over the DS in his pocket when he calls out to his boss that he's going out to eat.

He spends his break at a corner cafe, sipping distractedly at bland coffee as he plays. The soft green light glows again, and he remembers this time to check the plaza.

When he enters it, he finds several people waiting there. They tell him their names and towns, where there homes are located. He checks their homes, immediately tries to steal their infinitely more expensive furniture from their infinitely larger homes, and finds he can't.

At least his rocking chair must be safe, then.

Checking his coil for the time, Aoba downs the last few gulps of his tepid drink as he stands. The green light glows a final time, but he barely notices it. He's too busy being occupied with how close some rando is standing, eyeing the menu with his back to Aoba. Aoba recognizes the dumb rabbit patches on his ass.

Small world.

He thinks he sees the outside of a DS in one of those back jean pockets as well.

Even smaller world.

He's forgotten all about the run in by the time he gets home that night, unceremoniously dropping his duffel to the floor as he shrugs off his coat. One hot shower and a fresh change of clothes later, he finds himself in bed on his stomach, DS already in his hands again.

He explores the menu and settings for the first time, discovers he can create an avatar of himself that can greet passerbys. May as well make one, he figures. He's already opened up his virtual home to strangers, no harm in letting them further in.

Well, unless they’re serial killers.

He's never heard of a serial killer tracking someone down this way, at least. If he's the first, he figures his obituary will be a touch more exciting than it would be otherwise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strangers in the night, exchanging streetpass.  
> Wondering in the night, who is this dumbass.

He passes six people on the street the next day that make the green light flag. Five of them are wholly normal, exchanging simple greetings with him. The sixth, Aoba thinks, has the face of someone who deserves their own three-part medical special. He's also fairly certain this guy's name isn't 'Meme King' either.

Aoba finds that two of the people he passed have homes he can visit. One of them is Meme King's. Aoba knows it's him before they even speak, because only a weirdo would be wearing a hockey mask like some wannabe Jason Voorhees. Aoba doesn't look at his house on principal. Doesn't so much as find out the name of his village. There are other homes for him to busy himself with. Normal homes, made by normal people.

It's harder to ignore the guy when he shows up a second time, an orange rabbit head-shaped balloon in one hand. Aoba didn't even know someone could show up twice. Maybe this is punishment for ignoring him the first time.

He talks to the guy, but only because he wants the balloon. He doesn't really register the guy's in-game name, or where he's from. He definitely ignores where to find his house.

Later, out of curiosity, he checks his streetpasses. Meme King is among them, and there's a stock message saying this is the second time they've met. Aoba’s DS asks if he wants to write a personal message to the guy. Aoba nibbles the tip of his stylus, debating what to say.

In the end, there's a nervous patter to his heart that makes him change his mind, and he decides to say nothing at all.

The third time he spots the guy in his plaza, Aoba finds himself caring just enough to find out his name. Noiz. What kind of mayor is named Noiz? A terrible one, Aoba bets. Part of him wonders how many times he's passed Noiz on the street in real life, before all of this. He wonders if he could recognize this Noiz character on the street. Unlikely, he decides. He'd notice in a hurry if someone had a smashed up, glitched face like his mii sported, or wandered around in a Halloween mask.

But maybe Noiz has noticed him.

It's a thought Aoba is quick to shake from his head. Sure he looks like his mii, but only in the fleetingest of ways. Plus, even if Noiz realized who he was, who was to say he'd introduce himself? There hardly seemed to be a preexisting etiquette to this sort of thing. For now, Noiz can remain an abstract. A part of Aoba’s life that isn’t entirely real.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ao3 keeps putting a question mark in regards to how many chapters this will be. The answer is nine. Nine chapters.

Aoba invests himself more and more in the game, spends what spare time he has chatting to his villagers in place of the friends he doesn’t have. He pulls weeds and plants trees, pays for a fountain to be erected near the town hall. He participates in bug hunts and fishing contests, beams proudly when shops on mainstream close their doors only to reopen days later, bigger and better.

It fills the empty gape in his stomach, but not in the right way. Fills it in a way that’s jellied and soft like custard, threatening to give at any second. He wishes it were more stable, more solid. More grounded. But instead he holds on to what he can, his thoughts never far from his DS even when he’s out and about, eyes scanning the crowds around him and wondering if anyone else is the same.

It’s not long before he discovers that there are others. He finds them on the train and on street corners, sitting on steps and tucked in corner booths. He learns to recognize the way they keep their gaze downcast and focused on the screen before them, stylus held carefully between their fingers, tapping away on occasion.

He’s not sure if he finds this comforting or not. He settles for it being both. There are times when he almost reaches out, teeters on the edge of striking up conversation. Each time he’s halted by a lack of words. What would he say? Hey, I happen to be a virtual mayor, perhaps you’re the same. Yeah, that’d be smooth. 

For a fucking idiot.

Aoba jams his hands in his pockets and breathes out a puff of air that turns to a crisp cloud as he waits for the light to change. His gaze remains mostly on his feet, unfocused and lazy as he thinks. He glances at the person in front of him as they shift their weight impatiently. It takes a second for Aoba’s vision to sharpen, taking in the details of who’s before him.

Oh jeez, this guy again. His fashion sense is so far off the mark it's almost back on point in a twisted, ironic way. That's definitely a DS in his pocket, Aoba decides. Too bad he doesn't look like the kind of guy who would give a shit about governing animals. Not that Aoba's seen his face, but the easy, devil may care slouch of his shoulders and the scuffed bottoms of combat boots that look like they've been put to the test tells Aoba enough.

If they make Call of Duty for the DS, this guy is so totally all over that.

The light changes, and the guy is off to a quick start. Aoba follows closely behind, utilizing the wake he creates to move easily against the crowd coming from the opposite direction. Still wrapped up in thoughts of how to befriend others through the magic that is ignoring real life in lieu of having a virtual one, he forgets all about the person he’s trailing after.

At least until the guy halts for a second, and then Aoba's halting too. Mostly by smacking his face into the back in front of him.

“Shit," Aoba mumbles, dodging to the side. “Sorry."

He sees the guy's- no, kid, he's still got that touch of babyfat cheeks- face for the first time. There's a vacant sort of look to it, like he's abandoned all use of facial expressions. The liveliest thing about him are the piercings that dot his skin, reflecting silver light in innumerable places.   
Saying he was bright-eyed seemed to be putting it wrong. 

Sure, his eyes were bright, but without the usual sunny connotation. They were bright like a bug zapper, like an electric grid. Like something dangerous, painful, and pretty to look at. He didn’t seem to blink at all as he stared. If ever there were such a thing as aliens, this kid would have had to be one. 

“Uh, yeah. Like I said, sorry," Aoba repeats, and he doesn't stop to hear what the kid has to say in turn.

He hurries off to work with the distinct feeling that someone is watching him the entire time. It takes more self-control than he thought he had not to look over his shoulder. Goosebumps prickle across his skin beneath his jacket, and he's chilled enough by the encounter to crank the thermostat once he gets in the door.

In real life and the virtual world, he sure has a knack for running into weirdos.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man this chapter is really short. Give me three seconds and I'll upload the next, much longer one.

It’s in the corner cafe that he runs into the kid again. Thankfully not literally this time. Even more thankfully, the kid doesn’t notice him. He’s too busy in his own world, DS cracked open and a pastry half-eaten next to him. Aoba skirts the table he sits at, tries to look over to see what he’s playing. It’s more difficult than he first figures, and by the time he can almost spot the screen, the kid snaps it shut and finishes his food. Aoba spots the familiar green glow that signifies exchanged information.

He doesn’t check his streetpasses or plaza that night. He’s afraid to find out who the kid is, and even more afraid that they’ve passed before.

When he finds the nerve to check his DS in the morning, he swallows hard at finding he’s passed only one person. We’ve met three times, the stupid, glitched out mii tells him. Aoba’s throat goes weirdly dry, and then just about constricts when a personal message from the mii pops up.

‘Hey.’

Not exactly Shakespeare, but its contact. Aoba fiddles with his stylus, runs over greetings in his mind. What to say? The character limit is crippling, excluding any attempt at true conversation. He types ‘hi!’, decides the exclamation point makes him look like an overeager tryhard, and erases it.

He spends the next week on pins and needles, waiting for another exchange. He keeps his eyes up when he walks, alert and interested in his surroundings. He checks his streetpasses and plaza daily, waits to meet again with the kid. Each time he finds no familiar face. He asks himself why it even matters. He’s established him to be a total oddball by now, somehow even more socially inept than himself, which he feels is saying a lot.

But he’s lonely. He’s lonely and by now he’s willing to reach out to anyone, especially when they’ve reached out to him first.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll do a two-in-one-day chapter post next time as well, to balance the shortness of the next chapter out.

It's a dreary Tuesday afternoon when Aoba's already small world shrinks again. He's staring at the cafe menu like he hasn't been here a hundred times. The drinks, their sizes, their ingredients, all of it blends together in his mind, thoughts drifting aimlessly as he waits for his turn. There's a scent he barely registers, one he doesn't associate with any drink. It's cologne, rich and thick and expensive. Posh. He wishes he knew the name of it. It's probably foreign and hard to pronounce. If it were a drink, he'd order it every time. Full fat milk, extra whipped cream.

He’s nearly to the counter, mind still on the scent, when a touch at his wrist reels him back to the present. His gaze immediately snaps to the side, looks to see who’s touching him. Fingers encircle his wrist, grip lightly as though they expect him to jerk away. He has half a mind to, but he’s never been one to have a flight response. He’s a lot better at freezing up like a dope instead. He would make an awful deer.

The kid he'd run into before is standing next to him. No, not just that, he's the one holding onto Aoba. He has a tired, over traveled sort of appearance. The light in his lime-colored eyes is dull, and his pale lips have the slightest sleepy part to them. Aoba’s heart gives a great, shuddering lurch that he doesn’t understand. Nerves, he bets. Nerves because he’s pretty sure he knows exactly who this is.

"Aoba," the kid says. It's not a question, but a statement.

"Uh, yeah. That's me," Aoba says, then ventures an unsure, "Noiz?"

The kid gives him a heartthrob sort of smile at the recognition that squeezes Aoba's insides for the half second it exists. It’s gone too quickly and in its place steps in a sort of bratty scowl that looks more at home on Noiz’s face than his smile did.

"You took Julian," Noiz says, sounding serious and slightly accented.

Aoba stares in silence for a moment. Is this code, some sort of exchange he needs a special response to? Noiz adjusts his grip on Aoba's wrist, tightening his hold.

"Excuse me?"

“My dream villager, Julian. You took him, didn’t you?"

“Your dream what?"

“Villager. Dream villager. Julian," he says the words bluntly, like he’s explaining a simple concept to a child and growing more frustrated by the moment. "The unicorn," he adds, and it clicks in Aoba's mind, lights the receptors in his brain.

A new villager had moved in not two days before. He was bright blue and flamboyant, and very much a unicorn. He said he’d moved from a town, but Aoba had skimmed too quickly to catch the name of it. What shit luck, to have gotten it from the weird kid. He could already see the headline: totally innocent man murdered by video-game playing serial killer over a unicorn. That would be one for the ages.

No. No, Aoba repeats in his head. This was bogus. This wasn't how he'd envision their first meeting. Not that he envisioned it often. Or at all. He tries to pretend he never has. He takes a steadying breath as he pulls himself from his inner bickering, grabbing the reins of the conversation. He’s the adult in this situation, and he was going to act on it.

"I think we should start over," he said.

Noiz's brows furrows. They’re funny little half shapes.

"Why?"

"Because you're rude as hell, is why," Aoba informs him.

Noiz's scowl turns to something more slinky.

"Says the guy who jumped me and ran off."

"That was entirely by accident," Aoba insists. "Plus you wouldn't stop staring at me."

"Is that a bad thing?" Noiz asks. He was doing it, again. The staring thing.

Aoba wishes he could run away again. The hand on his wrist is like a shackle.

"Last I checked, yeah."

"Why?" Noiz asks.

"Because," Aoba says, waving his hand as though that was an answer. He wasn't going to let the conversation devolve into Noiz grilling him with childish questions. “Now let’s try this again.”

“Yo, my name is Noiz. Play with me,” he says.

Aoba sputters for a moment, not entirely sure what to make of the invitation.

“Like, Animal Crossing,” Noiz clarifies.

“Don’t phrase it so weirdly,” Aoba snaps, and it hits him. 

Noiz isn’t unfortunately weird. He’s weird on purpose. There is a stark difference, and he clearly is enjoying the latter. This kid is all about getting his goat.

“Does this mean you won’t play with me?” Noiz asks, his voice feigning innocence, his face doing anything but.

Aoba shoots him a deadpan look, meets his stare and doesn’t back down. He may be the first to blink, but it doesn’t count. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Noiz blink, and is starting to seriously question if he can.

“I guess,” Aoba says. 

Noiz lets go of his wrist then, and Aoba rubs at the spot like it’s been burned.

“Cool. Be a doll and go grab us a table then, yeah?”

Aoba does so without putting up a fuss. Not because he doesn’t want to, but he’d rather not try to argue against such stupid pet names when his cheeks grow heated at the mention of them. 

When Noiz comes to sit next to him, it’s with two hot drinks and a return trip for a plate full of sweets. He pulls the chair opposite of Aoba until it’s next to him, sitting near enough that their shoulders nearly brush. Aoba pretends not to notice the closeness as he reaches for a drink, hesitating when finds he has no idea which is for him.

“Either is fine,” Noiz says, answering his unspoken question. “And eat whatever you want.”

“Thanks,” Aoba says softly as he pulls one of the drinks closer to himself. He sniffs it delicately; it smells of vanilla and spice.

There’s an awkward air as they both settle in, pulling their DSes from their pockets and booting them up. 

“Your town or mine?" Noiz asks.

“Uh. Yours, I guess," Aoba says. He's not sure how this works.

“Cool, gates are open then," Noiz says.

Aoba pauses, tongue flicking nervously over his lower lip.

“Have you even done this before?" Noiz asks as he notes Aoba's hesitation.

“Sorta," Aoba lies, trying to buy himself time.

“You can't ‘sorta' visit someone's town. Well, I guess you can, but not like this," Noiz sighs, leaning in close enough that their shoulders do finally bump. “Go to your train station," he says, reaching over to point at the spot on Aoba's screen.

His fingers are long and slim, dotted with small nicks and scars. His fingernails aren't bitten down so much as the skin around them is. When he sits back, their shoulders still rest against one another's. Aoba's throat goes a little tight, and he tries to ignore that. He focuses instead on the game, on watching his mayor hop on a train and take a short journey to the neighboring village.

Noiz's mayor is waiting for him as he gets off, still with the stupid hockey mask. The flyaway licks of his blond hair look very much like their real life counterpart.

Noiz's town is, putting it lightly, utmost perfect. He gives Aoba a grand tour of the entire thing, leads him down cobblestone patterned roads lined with peach and orange trees. There are statues and structures, an endlessly burning campfire, flowers that bloom gold and black. There are ornate benches and all sorts of fruit, and Aoba pockets a few to bring home.

There are also rabbits. A lot of rabbits. 

“What do you think so far?" Noiz asks after they stop outside his house.

“It's pretty nice," Aoba says.

Noiz makes a tching noise in the back of the throat like that's an understatement. Aoba reaches for a fruit tart and takes a thoughtful bite. Noiz leans in and takes an even bigger one, tongue deflty lapping a spot of whipped cream from one of Aoba's fingertips. Aoba nearly crushes the remainder of the tart in his hand from shock.

"Are you seriously five years old?" Aoba asks.

"If it lets me get away with that sort of thing, yeah."

Aoba tosses his head in a huff before he pointedly finishes the tart. He rolls his shoulder under the guise of easing tensed muscles, finds it isn't a guise at all, and inches away until they're no longer touching.

A weird sort of relief bubbles up as the red light of his draining DS turns on. This is enough, he thinks. Enough interaction, enough one on one, enough weird antics for one day. A single man can handle only so much in such a short period of time.

"Whoops," Aoba says airily as he runs for the train station. "Guess we gotta cut the visit short."

Beside him, Noiz shrugs. It makes their shoulders brush again. Aoba's sure Noiz is doing it on purpose at this point. He doesn't ask himself why, because he thinks he knows the answer already.

"That's cool, we can save your place for another time," Noiz says.

He takes Aoba's wrist with more gentility than he had earlier, and starts to fiddle with his coil. Noiz's own goes off a second later.

"Most people at least ask to trade numbers," Aoba grumbles. The nervous bubble is becoming a heated roil now. The gall of this kid is truly something.

"Why ask when you wouldn't have said no," Noiz says.

Aoba pretends not to hear that as he takes another sip of his drink, lips hovering at the rim to avoid having to speak.

"Anyway, I'll catch you later," he says, awkward and stilted.

"Yeah, later," Noiz says. He speaks it around a mouthful of eclair, and it makes him look younger, borderline adorable.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter so I'm uploading another, longer one in a second.

When Aoba’s coil chimes at nearly midnight, he’s just awake enough to check the screen. He regrets it when he sees Noiz’s name pop up, but he’s already committed himself to reading it, so he may as well finish.

“you still have to give julian back”

Aoba’s temple gives a sharp throb in annoyance.

“Go to sleep.”

“nah man you distracted me earlier from it but you have to”

“Don‘t put this on me. How the hell did I distract you?’

His coil goes silent after that, and he almost thinks that’s the end of it before it chimes as he hunkers down under the covers.

“you just did okay. now stop dodging the julian issue”

“The only thing I have an issue with here is you. If you won’t go to bed, then I am.”

Aoba turns his coil to silent the second he sends the text and rolls over. He’s not dealing with this chump before bed. He can barely deal with the chump even when he’s well rested and fed. And as for Julian, well, Aoba rather likes him. What isn’t there to like about unicorns? Noiz can suck it if he thinks Aoba’s giving him back without a fight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom nearly 3,000 words. I really need to even these out, lengthwise. The next chapter is over 5,000. orz

When Aoba checks his coil in the morning and finds no new messages, there’s an aching sort of pang he doesn’t want to acknowledge. He’s not sure what he was expecting. Maybe an insult, maybe a demand. Maybe even a simple ‘goodnight.’ But there’s nothing there and he hasn’t the faintest idea of how to pick up the thread of conversation after being the one to blow Noiz off first.

It’s half past two by the time his coil chimes with a new message.

“how long of a measurement of time is ‘later’ to you”

Aoba brushes his bangs out of his face, frowns for a moment before he responds.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“you said we’d meet later”

Ah, yeah. He had said that.

“I’m working, so ‘later’ isn’t going to happen right now.”

“does this mean i can’t come visit you at work”

“Don’t say it like that. You make it sound like we’re a couple.”

“what about after work?”

Aoba sighs, lets his eyes close and takes in a deep breath. Counts to three as he exhales it. This kid is an eager beaver, and Aoba is too old to keep up with him. 

“Give me a few days.”

Noiz doesn’t text back, and Aoba’s takes that for an unspoken agreement.

Aoba soon doubles down on cultivating and perfecting his town as best he can. He plants new trees and flowers, paves a path of his own through the village. He fusses over his house, adds a new room and collects more furniture. He tidies up errant, unmatched chairs and sofas. He gets it looking half cohesive and cozy, a picture of what he'd like in real life. He pretends not to have shoved all his junk in the basement.

It's presentable enough that when Noiz texts him three days since their last contact with a simple, "old park at 5?" he doesn't feel nervous about agreeing. What he is nervous about was the way Noiz looks at him when they meet under a flickering lampost, the sun barely starting to set. His eyes are the color of a mantis, and still unblinking.

"Um, so," Aoba starts, hands in his pockets and toe scuffing the ground. Is he supposed to say he missed Noiz? He kind of did, but that would be weird to say.

Noiz's weirdness must be contagious.

"Come on," Noiz says, jerking his head at the paved path that winds through the park.

Their steps match easily as they start to walk, and neither of them makes the first move to speak. The quiet isn't companionable, but alive and electric, paper-thin and about to be punctured at any second. Aoba chances a glance at Noiz, takes in the sharp shape of his profile. He looks less childish from the side. The piercings help. Aoba eyes them quickly, counts what he can see and came up with the final tally of 'a lot.'

They walk until they leave the park, crossing streets and turning corners. Aoba gives a little jump when Noiz's hand snags around his forearm, pulling him off the sidewalk and guiding him towards one of the many restaurants. Aoba doesn’t have the time to so much as view the posted menu before Noiz is ushering him inside and going right for the host.

Their exchange is businesslike and efficient. Before her mouth can open Noiz is telling her his name, that he has a reservation for two, and that he'd like to be sat outside. He isn't mean about it, nor brusque. Merely cold.

After they’re taken to the patio, Noiz pulls out Aoba's chair for him, and Aoba eyes him like he doesn't trust Noiz not to yank it away the second he goes to sit. He sits against his better judgment in the end, and while Noiz doesn't pull the chair away, he does drag his own over, the wrought iron legs squealing against the tiles beneath them.

It's a repeat performance of how they first sat together, shoulders touching and all. When Aoba's chest prickles and warms, he blames it on the heat lamp they're huddled beneath. He wants to turn his head and ask the nearest patron if this is normal. If this is how friendships are founded, on bizarre behaviors and over the top… well, play dates. Play dates that border heavily on actual, real life adult dates.

The waiter brings them a basket of warm rolls, and eyes them like he doesn’t know what to make of them. Aoba doesn’t mind. He has no idea what to make of them either. They probably look like a right pair of geeky idiots.

“Water,” he says when asked for his drink, picking a previously ignored menu up to eye it for an appetizer. His stomach drops when he sees there are no prices, and he mentally tries to recall what his bank account is looking like right about now. “And uh, yeah. That’s good for now.”

“7up,” Noiz says without looking up.

The server nods politely before leaving them be.

Aoba opens the gates to his town without being prompted, holds his breath for when he gets the message that he’ll be getting a visitor soon., and lets it out slowly when Noiz steps off the train and heads out of the station. There’s a nervous surge through his entire body as he waits for Noiz to pass judgment on his village.

"Wow, your town in shit," Noiz says with a frown.

Aoba gawks, sensibilities offended.

"You come into my town, and tell me it’s shit?" he asks in disbelief.

Noiz grabs a warm breadroll and pulls it apart far enough to stuff it with a slab of butter. "I never said I wouldn't help you make it better.”

"Like I'm buying that," Aoba sniffs.

"I never said there wasn't a catch, either."

"Which would be?"

"Julian."

Aoba groans as he rolls his eyes. He should have seen that one coming. He doesn't give Noiz the satisfaction of a response, instead setting his DS down to look over the menu.

Even the font on it looks pricey.

"You can get whatever you want, it doesn't matter," Noiz says, and Aoba curses himself for having such an easy to read face. He's always been terrible at poker.

It takes an extra five seconds for him to realize Noiz means he's picking up the tab.

"No, it's fine," Aoba says. He's not going to let this be a date.

"Uh, too bad? What are you going to do, steal the bill before it comes?"

"Don't force me to make it a scene," Aoba says. He already feels bone-tired by this excursion. This kid has a talent for wearing him down in a hurry.

"Cool, then I'm getting dinner."

"But if I let you get dinner, you'll turn it into something stupid. Like saying I owe you Julian because of it."

"That's the plan."

Aoba's right eye gives a fleeting twitch, and he can hear his pulse in his ears. He's never been predisposed to murder, but he thinks he understands now how it's committed by normal people, the kind of folks that neighbors said never seemed to be the type. God, maybe it’s him, maybe he’s going to be the streetpass serial killer.

"That was a joke, in case you missed it," Noiz says.

"It wasn't a very good one," Aoba says, hiding his face behind his menu.

"Well, Germans aren't exactly known for their sense of humor."

Aoba continues to hide in his menu. German, huh? That places the accent. Not the odd mannerisms, though. There's no way he's letting Noiz use his birthplace as a reason to act out like he does.

When the time comes to order, Aoba points to something he doesn’t think he can pronounce, and doesn’t want to embarrass himself by trying. Noiz asks for pasta with butter, and nothing else. Both Aoba and the server give him sidelong looks that seem not to faze him.

Aoba gives Noiz the tour of his village after that, introducing him to the animals that live there, showing him the orchards now being grown with the fruit he'd grabbed from Noiz's town. He shows him his home as well, and Noiz hums.

"Does your room look like this in real life?"

"Not really, I don't think," Aoba says. "It's messier than this, and my bed is smaller."

Noiz hums again. Aoba waits for him to say more, but he doesn't. Conversation doesn't look to be his strong suit. Scratch that, interaction in general seems to be a sector he's not operating at full capacity. Aoba feels a little bad for him. Just a smidge, a tad. Nothing more than a wisp. He tells himself that, at least. For how troublesome Noiz is, he's not exactly a bad person.

When their food arrives, Aoba gently folds his DS and sets it aside.

"Don't tell me you're stopping to eat," Noiz says.

"Then I won't. But I'm doing it."

Noiz gets a petulant look to his face that Aoba's seen only on children before they throw a tantrum.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" Aoba asks. "I guess we'll actually have to talk to each other about things that aren't video games, and maybe even make eye contact. Act like normal people."

Noiz snorts. "Anything but the last one," he says.

"So I've noticed."

"Why can't we just hang out and play video games, or at least talk about them?"

"Because that's how it is," Aoba says. It's a piss poor argument, he finds.

Noiz seems to notice this too, from the deadpan look his light eyes send Aoba's way. He doesn't try to continue the argument, though. He picks at his plate and wears a sullen, little kid frown.

They eat in silence, and this time it's not as bad. The empty strain that was there before has faded, filled instead by something softer, more companionable. The quiet connection of friendship, if what they have can be called that. Aoba supposes it can. Halfway through the meal, it's hard to ignore the bland whiteness that is Noiz's plate. Aoba's never considered himself a health expert, but there's no way that Noiz's dinner can even begin to pass itself off as nutritionally balanced.

Aoba spears a slice of meat from his plate and moves it to Noiz's.

"Thanks, mom," Noiz says, but he eats it.

"You're like, twelve," Aoba says. "You have to eat something that isn't bread or pasta sometimes."

"I'm nineteen," Noiz corrects.

"Which is basically twelve."

Noiz takes a second to mull it over, steals a second bite from Aoba's plate, and nods to himself.

"A big step up from the five year old I was last time, I guess."

When the bill comes, they both reach for it at once. It's far from tender, the way their hands meet. There's no romantic light brush of fingers, but instead the knocking of their knuckles and the scrape of nails over skin. They pull back in unison, hands tensing for a second try.

"I can cover it," Aoba says.

"That's nice, but you're not."

"I am."

Noiz reaches first this time, And Aoba knocks his hand aside with the quickness of a viper strike. Noiz's hand reroutes to grab Aoba's wrist as he tries to nab the bill.

"Why are you so against me paying?" Noiz asks. It's cool and casual, like he's talking about the weather.

"Because that'll make it seem like a date," Aoba blurts. He doesn't mean to. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Noiz's weird it totally rubbing off on him, breaking down his brain to mouth filter.

Noiz doesn't blink, which is the least surprising thing ever. It'd be worse if he did.

"Is that a problem?" he asks, still calm. Infuriatingly so. "I figured even guys liked to be taken out. No one's ever complained about it so much before."

If Aoba had hackles, they'd be raising. But he doesn't, so instead his cheeks stain red and he runs his free hand through his hair like untangling the ends will untangle his problems. Is this a problem? He has no idea. Emotions are problems.

Noiz gives him a lot of emotions. Ergo, he gives Aoba a lot of problems.

"Fine, it's a date," Aoba says. He feels like this is some sort of trick, like Noiz is suddenly going to say it isn't one.

"Sweet," is all Noiz says. From the flatness of his voice, it's hard to tell if he's being sarcastic or not.

He eases his hold on Aoba's wrist, and Aoba swears that for a second his thumb rubs over Aoba's veins in a way that sends something white and nervous through them. His touch is gone then. Too soon, or not soon enough. Aoba can't decide. 

They sit closer than ever before as they wait for their server to return. The night air is bitingly cold, even under the warmth of the lamp. Aoba's foot jogs up and down under the table, and he wishes he could clasp a hand to his knee to stop it. He's busy instead with his DS again, following Noiz as he continues to inspect his town, wary that he'll somehow take Julian away in the blink of an eye. Aoba's become increasingly fond of the unicorn. Noiz's nagging has made Aoba want to keep him all the more.

Noiz doesn't ask to walk Aoba home, and Aoba doesn't suggest it. Neither of these things stop it from happening. Silence fills the small space between them as they walk, their hands occasionally brushing, fingers curling clumsy and startled. Aoba doesn't think it's on purpose, but he doesn't consider it entirely accidental as well.

What conversation they do make is sparse and superficial, so much that none of it sticks in Aoba's mind.

The lights are on when they make it to the porch, the faint clatter of pots and pans coming from inside. Aoba hears Granny mumble to herself in that way she has, like she's listing everything wrong with the world. He smiles at the normalcy of it. At least one of them still has it together.

They stand together under the awning for a moment, their breath appearing in ghostly puffs before quickly fading. Aoba rocks on his heels a moment, notices for the first time that Noiz is the slightest touch taller than him, the brat.

Something wells in Aoba's chest the longer they stand together, a sticky kind of heat he wants to push away. It presses itself against his ribs, takes hold of his heart. Fills the empty loneliness in him with a high pitched something that isn't quite anxiety.

"So," Aoba starts, thinning his lips. Nothing comes next. Not to his mind, not to his mouth.

"I expect way more trees next time I see your sorry excuse for a town," Noiz says. "Like hell are you getting a Jacob's Ladder with that puny orchard."

Aoba takes solace in the fact that no matter how awkward and out of words he is, Noiz's natural affinity for being an idiot will make him look better by comparison.

"Of course," Aoba sniffs. He has no idea what a Jacob's Ladder is. "Next time, yeah. You'll see."

Noiz nods, slipping his hands into his own pockets.

When he walks away without saying anything more, Aoba thinks it has to be a joke. One of Noiz's stupid, terrible, no good German jokes. But no, Noiz walks off into the night, swallowed up by darkness and without so much as a glance back. No 'we'll have to do this again sometime' or 'see you around.' More importantly, no goodbye hug. Or kiss. The mood was set for a kiss, Aoba thinks.

He feels weirdly slighted, like every time Noiz has been the one to drop conversation first. He's not playing by societal norms. He's running a different game, and Aoba's not sure how to play it.

But he wants to.

It's nearly one am when his coil goes off. It better be an emergency. An emergency of world-ending proportions, considering that he's stepped into a headache sometime between falling asleep and right now. He sees Noiz's name. It makes his headache worsen.

“yo exactly when is next time”

Not this again.

"Ask me later, when it's not a totally unreasonable hour. And when I don't have work in the morning, okay? I'm going to sleep."

He doesn't expect a response, and he barely registers when his coil goes off with one.

It's a single word, but it's something.

"night"


	9. Chapter 9

‘Later’ turns out to mean not quite two days. It's not something they agree on, but when Aoba finds himself getting off of work and hitting the cafe for a caffeine-filled pick me up only to find Noiz already there, he can't exactly walk out on him.

"Missing me already?" Noiz asks, glancing up from his screen.

Aoba stares daggers of recognition at him and says nothing as he gets in line. He orders his coffee with two espresso shots. He's going to need it.

"To go," Noiz adds when Aoba pays. He's standing close now, and his voice seems closer still. Aoba flinches like a startled cat, and the cashier is nodding before Aoba can say that no, he'll have it for here, thank you very much.

"I never knew you were psychic," Aoba says as he steps a way to wait. Noiz's eyebrows hitch in interest.

"You were really getting it to go?"

"I was being sarcastic," Aoba says. He briefly fantasizes about smacking Noiz's arm in irritation. He decides to live his fantasy. Noiz has no reaction, and Aoba's fantasies double in strength.

"Whatever. I was about to head out so I figured I'd drag you with me. Unfinished business, and all."

Aoba doesn't ask what unfinished business he means. He's going to hang himself from one of the rustic, kitchy ceiling fans of the coffee shop if he has to hear another word about Julian.

When his drink order comes up, they make for the outside. Aoba doesn't ask where they're going. They make their way through the streets with long, brisk strides as dark clouds start to roll in. Aoba sips at his drink, and when Noiz steals a few tastes, Aoba doesn’t mind much. His coffee tastes good, and since Noiz is drinking it, Noiz tastes good. Not that it matters, not that Aoba thinks he will ever find out exactly what Noiz tastes like.

Noiz stops outside an apartment complex that looks not unlike the ones it's sandwiched between. Grey, tall, and unassuming. Noiz opens the door and holds it, gestures with his head for Aoba to enter. The lobby smells like moving boxes, packing peanuts,and febreeze.

The elevator is lined with too many mirrors, a red carpet, and muzak pipes itself in from unseen speakers. When Noiz presses the button for his floor, it's so high up that the number alone makes Aoba slightly queasy. He spends the ride up alternating between staring at himself in the mirror, and staring at the reflection of his coffee.

When the elevator stops and the doors slide open, Noiz's hand finds the small of his back, gently urging him forward. Something that static electricity scratches around the inside of his head. Noiz's hand doesn't leave him until they reach a door at the end of the hall. The static electricity stays.

His apartment isn't messy, nor is it clean. It looks lived in, but barely. It reminds Aoba of a sitcom home, not quite real. Except for the walls, those weren't real at all. They were pale and lifeless, no family photos, no band posters. Nothing.

The apartment is entirely, eerily, the most nonoffensive temperature Aoba has ever experienced. If he looked up the wiki page for room temperature, in fact, he's sure he'd see a photo of this apartment in the article.

Noiz toes off his shoes and shrugs off his coat, and Aoba follows suit before he pads over to the kitchen, tossing his empty coffee in the trash. The tiled floor is cleaner than he expects, the appliances stainless steel sleek. There are no dishes in the sink, but the plastic plates and utensils he spots in the trash explain that easily.

"Hungry?" Noiz asks as he ducks into the fridge.

"Something like that," Aoba says. He's not sure hunger is what's in his stomach, but he'll pretend it is.

Noiz pulls back from the fridge with a white take out box in hand, popping the lid open and sniffing the contents. He sniffs a second time. He grabs a plastic fork and takes a bite. Aoba counts the seconds as Noiz slowly chews.

"Still good," Noiz declares, and Aoba pales. He's going to kill this kid if they end up with food poisoning.

Ten minutes later he's sitting at a table straight from an IKEA catalogue, a plastic plate full of spaghetti and meatballs before him, a red solo cup of water next to it. He takes a nibble to assure himself it doesn't taste like it's gone off, and when he finds it hasn't, tucks in.

Turns out his appetite was hiding somewhere in there with all his nerves.

"That was really good," Aoba comments as he finishes, standing to trash his plate. He collects Noiz's on the way.

"Thanks. I consider myself somewhat of an expert at working a microwave," Noiz says. "Can we play now?"

Aoba snorts and shakes his head. It was only a matter of time.

"Sorry, didn't charge my DS last night."

Noiz shrugs as he stands, stretching his arms over his head until they give a solid pop. "Not like I don't have a charger."

Aoba can't argue with that. Doesn't want to argue with that. He follows Noiz through the apartment instead, stepping over snake-like bundles of black wires that slither across the floor until they reach the bedroom.

It has the same empty feel of the rest of the apartment. There's half-unpacked, open luggage on the floor, and while the bed isn't messy, it's still unmade. Noiz takes two long steps before he throws himself onto the mattress, sinking into the duvet with a sigh before he rolls over.

"C'mere," he says. Aoba pads closer dutifully, climbing onto the bed with much more poise. He fishes his DS out of his pocket when Noiz gestures for it, watches it being plugged in.

The cord doesn't reach far, and Aoba finds himself close enough to pick up on Noiz's distracting scent as he tries to play. There's six inches of space between them, max, and the cord is strung tight.

"Would it cramp your style to move closer?" Noiz asks after a few moments of Aoba fiddling to make himself comfortable.

"I'm still deciding on that," Aoba says.

The decision is taken from his control as Noiz's hand, followed by his arm, manages to work it's way under him. Noiz pulls him in, holds him to his side. The charging cable goes slack, and Aoba finds his head resting in the crook of Noiz's shoulder, nearly on his chest.

Aoba goes tense all over as he waits for Noiz to spout off some teasing line, but it never comes. Instead Noiz keeps him tucked against him, maneuvering his hands to open his own DS.

It's not the most eloquent or effortless position, but there's a certain comfort to it.

They play without speaking much, bellies full and warm, bodies tired. They jump back and forth between towns, getting petition signatures, running repetitive errands. The sunny weather of the island they go to is a stark contrast to the pitter patter of rain against Noiz's window.

When a villager tells Aoba he looks tired, that he should rest for a minute, it's convincing enough that he closes the lid of his DS as he stifles a yawn against Noiz's shirt. Noiz doesn't ask about it. Aoba tells himself all he needs is a moment to let his eyes unfocus and mind drift.

He blinks once, and finds the room is dark. His head is groggy with sleep, and the rain has turned from soft noises to hard nails rapping against the panes.

He scrambles to sit up, mouth dry and unpleasant as he pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes. Beside him, Noiz shifts. Aoba looks down to see him already looking up at him, face lit by the pale light of his DS screen.

"Shit, what time is it?" Aoba asks. He tries to slide off the bed, but his muscles aren't entirely awake yet.

"Chill, it's like, eleven. Have a nice nap, sleeping beauty?"

"Eleven?" Aoba gapes. The room illuminates too-bright in a flash of lightning. The thunder comes soon after.

"Cool," Noiz remarks softly.

"Great. This is great. Can't wait to walk home in this," Aoba groans as he finds his legs starting to work.

"I never said I was kicking you out."

"Like hell am I sleeping in my work clothes," Aoba sniffs, and he's on his feet now.

"You say that like I wouldn't lend you my clothes," Noiz says. He's on his feet then too, shuffling toward his dresser. It takes a few short seconds of rooting around for him to pull something out that he balls up and throws at Aoba.

Aoba catches it, holding it to his chest as he casts about. Noiz gestures at a door, and Aoba figures it has to be the bathroom. He takes a moment once he's inside to snag Noiz's mouthwash and freshen up, splashing his face with cold water before he strips his clothes and redresses.

He sniffs at an expensive-looking bottle of cologne on the counter. It's Noiz's scent. It's also, as he expected, named in a foreign language. German. He knows he won't remember the name for long.

He eyes himself in the mirror once he's done. It's a simple get up, not exactly pajamas. An oversized hoodie and worn basketball shorts that skim him knees. He grabs the collar of the hoodie and sniffs it. It's been worn, but it doesn't smell bad. He sniffs it again before folding his work clothes up, tucking them under his arm and leaving the bathroom.

Noiz hasn't changed into pajamas so much as he's lost more of his clothes. His light undershirt leaves his arms exposed, arms leans with muscle, his boxers dotted with running rabbits. If he has any hair on his legs, it's so fair and thin that Aoba can't see it.

“So, is the couch fair game?" Aoba asks, setting his clothes on a desk.

“My bed not comfortable enough for you?"

“It's your bed, I don't exactly want to impose. What happened earlier-- I didn't mean to nod off."

Noiz looks out the window. No, not out- at. He blinks once, slowly, the first time Aoba’s ever seen it, and then his eyes are on Aoba.

“I didn't mind."

That's all it takes for Aoba to find himself back in Noiz's bed, the heavy duvet up to his waist. His DS is fully charged and unplugged, giving him ability to move away, but he doesn't utilize his newfound freedom. He stays tucked to Noiz's side instead, so close he can feel the in and out of Noiz's breath. When he opens his DS, he finds himself in a different area of his town than he recalls leaving himself at.

“Did you play while I was sleeping?"

“Yes," Noiz says. It's even, noncommittal.

“Let me get a little more specific," Aoba says. “Did you play my game while I was sleeping?

“Yes," Noiz repeats.

Aoba narrows his eyes at his screen.

“You better not have fucked anything up."

“Poked around. Talked to Julian. Didn't exactly do much," Noiz reassures.

When Aoba greets a villager only for them to greet him with an excited “Yo, asshat!" he wonders exactly where Noiz gets off thinking he didn't do much. Each villager he finds seems to have a light-hearted insult to hurl his way, or a pet name bordering on racy. Every piece of furniture in his house has been moved exactly one space to the right, and turned to face the wall.

“I could kill you,” Aoba says. “Actually, I am going to kill you. Open your gates.”

Aoba’s not sure if you can actually kill anyone in this game, but he’s going to try anyway. He steps off the train with an axe already in his hands. He runs up and down along the paths, ready to swing at Noiz the first second he sees him. But he finds no one aside from a few villagers still awake, burning the midnight oil.

“Where the hell are you hiding?” Aoba asks, thumping his forehead against Noiz.

“I’m not hiding anywhere, just redecorating,” Noiz says. One hand falls from his DS to flick Aoba’s forehead. 

Aoba wheels around and runs for Noiz’s house, accidentally tearing of a bushel of gold roses, then not so accidentally pretends he didn’t. It’s as he’s pulling the door to Noiz’s home open that he realizes he’s never seen the inside before, too mule-stubborn to have looked previously.

He regrets entering the house immediately. Balloon furniture, ugh. The whole set, from the looks of it. It’s all gross, plasticy bright colors he’s come to associate with carnival fun houses of the wrong kind. He rushes upstairs to find a different story. It’s nothing but green and black in the way of customized furniture. It all has a suave, sophisticated look. Borderline minimalistic. 

Noiz is sprawled on a large bed in the middle of the room, eyes closed, expression peaceful. Aoba leaps on the bed and-- what? Shit. His axe is gone, right. No tools indoors, which is a total crock. Aoba finds his character doing jack all except lying next to Noiz’s, staring up at the ceiling as though searching for a greater truth. He presses on the d pad to try to push Noiz out of bed. All it does is lead his character to try and roll over, only to effectively bounce off of Noiz.

“Wow, you’re really giving me what for,” Noiz says.

“Shut up, I've never done this sort of thing before," Aoba says, and the words come out all wrong and in an embarrassed huff.

He stares at his character, still lying next to Noiz. He tries again to push him off, bounces off one more time with a startled look. He presses buttons, any of them, all of them, in some hope of another interaction. Nothing comes to him, and he settles for repeatedly rolling into Noiz again and again, always deflected.

"You just look like you're trying to get some," Noiz eventually says, the tail end of his words a snerk.

A curiosity strikes Aoba out of left field, and when he tries to mentally kick it away, he finds it's already rooted itself deep. He wants to ignore it, but it lingers. Shit. He can't kick it out.

"What?" Noiz asks.

"What?" Aoba repeats, hoping the blush warming his cheeks isn't visible in the low light.

"You're zoning on me. Earth to Aoba."

"Oh," Aoba says. "Uh, I was thinking."

"Well, don't leave me hanging. How'd that turn out for you?"

Aoba chews the inside of his cheek. His brain isn't operating all that well, and there's no lie that comes forth in his mind. He speaks the truth before he can think not to.

"Can you, y'know, have sex in this game?" he asks.

Noiz stares at him with the most passive, unaffected face Aoba has ever seen. Then promptly breaks into raucous laughter. It's the first time Aoba's heard Noiz laugh, a throaty, rough sound.

“Is that what you were trying to do?” Noiz asks when he’s tempered his laughter, voice breathy.

“Not really,” Aoba is quick to snap. “I mean, it was just a thought. I don’t really play games, for all I know it’s totally possible.”

Noiz chuckles again, a deep and hearty noise that makes Aoba’s heart jump around like it doesn’t know where it belongs.

“Try what you just did in real life and see how quick it gets you laid,” Noiz says, sarcastic and smug.

Aoba means to leave it at that. Wants to leave it at that. But what he wants more is to rile Noiz up in the same way he’s done him over already, to shove his words back in his face and make him sorry. The only way he can think to do so in his hot headed state is to take Noiz up on his advice. He snaps his DS shut and places it out of harm’s way on the nightstand before he tenses his muscles, rolling his body against Noiz.

Unlike in the game, there’s no mechanic to stop him, to push him off. He finds himself instead ending up on Noiz’s chest, a little flustered and looking down at him, hands gripping Noiz’s shirt to stop himself from rolling into the wall. Noiz’s eyes glitter like something phosphorescent found under the sea, seen only in nature documentaries. 

“Actually, guess this isn’t a half bad start,” Noiz says.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

It’s stupid and childish, and Aoba hates those words. Hates them because they make heat flare through his veins, sends his heart skipping along. What he hates most, though, is that he wants to do just that. Wants to shut Noiz and all his stupid jabs up, and he does exactly that.

He can feel Noiz’s smile when their lips meet, and Aoba grips his shirt tighter in frustration. He kisses Noiz without the tentative gentility of a shy couple sharing their first peck, but instead with pent up frustration and an undercurrent of adrenaline. He faintly hears Noiz setting his DS aside, immediately distracted when cool hands slip under the hem of his hoodie. Noiz’s fingertips are light as they skim the pale skin beneath, tracing up along his spine before drifting back down to rest on the small of his back. Aoba’s kiss stutters, his body shivering under the touch.

“Don’t tell me you’re stopping when it gets good,” Noiz hums. “I was almost thinking of quieting down.”

Aoba lets his elbow dig a little too sharply into Noiz’s chest before their lips meet again. It’s slower this time, calmer. Kissing Noiz is... nice. Really nice. His lips are soft and warm with the slightest chap to them, and Aoba likes the feel of his piercings. When Noiz’s hand presses against his back, rubs a small circle, Aoba finds his lips parting in a sigh, and it’s all Noiz needs to deepen the kiss.

Aoba quickly finds that Noiz’s tongue is pierced as well, and that he likes that. More than likes that. He runs his own tongue over the stud, wet and hot and slippery, the metal tasteless. His grip on Noiz’s shirt loosens, and he finds that only makes Noiz’s hold on him stronger. His thoughts are a slow burn of lust and inhibition, and he barely notices when Noiz turns the tables, pushing Aoba onto his back.

Aoba does notice when Noiz stops kissing him, pulling away as he supports his weight on one elbow, looking down on Aoba. His eyes are dark now, pupils blown. His lips are barely parted, tongue pink as it flicks out over them, as though still tasting Aoba. He looks away for a second, and his expression changes to something Aoba’s never seen him show before.

Bashfulness. 

It hits him very suddenly how young Noiz is, how with his less than stellar personality and social skills, he may be inexperienced and self-conscious.

“Hey,” Aoba says quietly, reaching up a hand to brush against Noiz’s cheek. Noiz noses his palm like an affectionate pet. “You overthinking things?”

“Sort of,” Noiz admits. “I mean, I’ve just...”

He closes his eyes like he has to steel himself for his next words. Aoba waits, counts the seconds. Lets his fingertips trace over the shell on Noiz’s ear and feels the heat there.

“You’ve just?” Aoba prompts.

“Thought about this,” Noiz admits. “A lot.”

Aoba’s heart clenches hard. Fuck. Noiz is doing the dumb thing where he’s being cute, and not on purpose.

“Well you can stop just thinking about it and actually act on it now.”

“Really?” Noiz asks, and he looks like an excited dog that wants nothing more than to snap up the milk bone balanced on its nose.

“Really.”

They work their way out of their clothes as though they're in a great rush only to slow, exploring one another's bodies with unsure but curious hands. Aoba balks and stops Noiz when he reaches for the light switch by the bedside table. Aoba likes the dark, the privacy of it. They’re moving fast, sure, but there’s a difference between exposing oneself in the dark, and having it all laid out and exposed under bright light. 

Noiz doesn't argue. Instead he dots kisses along Aoba's jaw and down his throat, nips lightly at his Adam's apple before moving lower, nuzzling against collarbones. His slim fingers touch and stroke, and Aoba finds it hard to gather himself enough to return the favor. Their hands move lower until they've taken one another in their grip. 

Aoba gives a responsive twitch when Noiz's thumb rubs over the head of his dick, and Noiz makes a sound of the sweetest relief as Aoba's fingertips move over his many piercings that line his, mentally mapping them. When Noiz's hips jerk and he presses hard against Aoba's palm, he knows what words will come next before Noiz speaks them.

"Can we," Noiz starts, but he cuts himself off with another jerk of his hips, like he can use the gesture to fill in the rest of his sentence.

“Yeah,” Aoba breathes, because for Noiz’s brash nature, he seems unable to blatantly state how bad he wants to fuck. It’s kind of endearing.

Noiz reaches over to fumble with the nightstand, and Aoba goes stiff with the fear that the light will be switched on after all. In the end, Noiz merely grabs for the small drawer, rummaging inside until he’s pulling his hand from it, a small bottle in his grip.

“Is it okay if, you, you’re,” Noiz begins, trailing off. It doesn’t take a genius to know what he’s asking as he settles himself between Aoba’s spread thighs.

“S’fine, don’t worry,” Aoba says, like he knows what he’s talking about.

He has no fucking clue what he’s talking about. He’s not a stranger to sex, but he is to this particular act. There’s a sudden fear-pang of if it will hurt, but he’d rather he be the one hurting than Noiz.

“Tell me if it’s bad,” Noiz says. Aoba nods in the dark.

The hears the pop of a cap opening, and then the click of it closing.

The first finger Noiz presses in isn’t quite slick enough, and they both know by the way Aoba’s breath catches all wrong. There’s a quiet moment between them, an unspoken apology as Noiz withdraws. Aoba hears the pop-click again, and his toes curl into the sheets with anticipation. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, but he finds that a fistful of covers is a good way to occupy them.

Noiz’s finger slides in again, slicker than before, and Aoba’s breath catches in all the right ways. The sensation is foreign, but pleasant. A full kind of ache that makes him squirm and bite his lip to keep the moan that rises in his throat from escaping. He lets his hips move slow and steady, urging himself down onto Noiz’s finger in a rhythm.

He rocks down on the second finger the second it presses against him, and he can’t keep back the moan then as he tosses his head back against the pillow. He quickens the pace of his rolling hips at sweat prickles and beads on the back of his neck and brow, nerves excited and attentive to every twist, curl, and drag of Noiz’s fingers.

Three fingers is too much and not enough at once. It’s a blurry sort of plain-pleasure that Aoba craves. It burns his senses until there’s nothing but the focus on the in and out of Noiz’s fingers and the way his body greedily accepts them. His chest rises in short and falls in short and shallow pants, and the covers twist between his fingers. Precum from his neglected dick drips onto his abdomen.

Aoba has barely enough sense not to whine when Noiz withdraws his fingers again, tells himself the best is yet to come. His breathing is just starting to even out when one of Noiz’s hands rests on his knee, thumbing the skin there. Aoba’s lips twitch into a smile, and his back gives the slightest arch as Noiz presses slowly into him, hot and hard and giving him that fullness again. Each piercing rubs against him as Noiz settles in, and Aoba gives a full body shudder in turn.

“Still good?” Noiz asks, voice raspy but genuine. 

“More than good,” Aoba says. “Really, really good.”

He’s about to tell Noiz to get a move on when Noiz seems to pick up on it himself. He pulls back with a slow, steady drag, and Aoba tears his hands away from the sheets, reaches with outstretched arms for Noiz. As Noiz sinks in again, his body falls forward, weight on his elbows as he looks down. Aoba smiles up at him weak and dazed, brings his arms up to wrap around Noiz’s neck and reel him in closer until there’s no space, just skin against skin.

Aoba’s dick twitches as Noiz’s abdomen is pressed against it, a piercing on his navel skimming against the sensitive crown. A startled gasp is drawn from Aoba’s throat at the contact, but it’s soon turned into a lower, needier sound as Noiz sets a careful, almost too-languid pace. A slow burn churns in Aoba’s stomach, and it’s all he can think about. How he wants more, and hotter, and faster.

His grip on Noiz strengthens as he’s driven into again and again, slick noises and soft pants filling the room

Aoba's aware, dimly, that he's begging, pleading. He doesn't register the words, but he feels them pulled from his throat with every hard thrust. Noiz is saying something, responding, but his voice is a low thrum to Aoba's ears, something he can't entirely make out. The tone, though. It's gentle, caring, intimate in a way Aoba would never expect from Noiz.

When Noiz takes him in hand again, pumps his sensitive flesh in time with the movement of his hips, Aoba finds himself crying out, voice breaking as he arches against Noiz’s palm. Everything is hot, deliciously hot, he can’t think straight, his eyes won’t focus, no part of him feels under his own control. No longer is he far away from the world, cold and disconnected, but instead present and anchored. He gives up all he has to Noiz as he’s fucked against the mattress, the frame shaking as much as he is.

When Aoba comes, it's with a high pitched keen and an arching of his entire body, white ropes of cum spilling over Noiz’s hand and his own stomach. Noiz thrusts hard against him a few more times before he’s halting with the stillness of climax, spilling into Aoba, twitching within him. As Aoba goes soft in Noiz’s hand, and in turn Noiz goes soft in him, the stimulation is at once all too much and not enough. A perfect blend of synapses firing and utter exhaustion.

When Noiz’s hand falls away and he pulls back, slips from Aoba with a wet noise, the proceeding trickle of fluid that leaks from Aoba makes him whine and tense. A shower is definitely in order; once he composes himself at least. It’s hard to do that when every muscle in his body is jelly-weak and his thoughts are still pleasantly numbed by his orgasm.

He lingers in the haze as Noiz flops don’t next to him, seemingly still in the same post-sex trance. Aoba glances over, sees the slight sweat sheen on his skin, the flush to his cheeks and the way his lips part as he breathes shallowly. His eyes are dimmer now, almost dreamy and far away. Aoba reaches over and threads his fingers through Noiz's hair, gently untangles a birdnesty snare of blond.

Noiz closes his eyes like he's memorizing the moment. Maybe he is. Aoba is. He's memorizing the kink his index finger is caught on, the waxy pomade that separates the strands. The soft flutter of Noiz's lashes when they open again.

“I can’t believe a video game got me laid,” Noiz says.

“You piece of--” Aoba starts, no longer untangling Noiz’s hair but snagging it, giving an annoyed yank before he lets go. “I can’t believe you.”

When Aoba stands, it’s followed by an immediate cringe as slickness trails down his thigh. He grabs for his discarded hoodie and shorts, gathering them in his arms as he hurries to the bathroom slightly knock-kneed and weak. And as he washes the sweat and cum from his body, he has to admit to himself that Noiz is a good and thorough fuck. He waits for the regret and shame to surge forward, so he can wash that away as well, but it never comes.

When he exits the bathroom, freshly dressed and with still-damp hair, he sees Noiz has had the decency to pull his clothes back on as well. It’s surprisingly easy to return to his bed, the covers pulled aside already. Noiz lies on his back with one arm folded behind his head, his other arm splayed across the space where Aoba had been earlier, open and inviting. 

Aoba crawls onto the mattress with a weary sigh, letting his body fall boneless next to Noiz’s.

“I can’t believe you said that,” he mumbles against Noiz’s side, but he finds he’s too tired now to be truly bothered by it.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Noiz says.

He wraps his arm around Aoba to pull him closer, hesitates for two beats of a heart, and presses his lips to Aoba’s forehead. Aoba’s tired mind 

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t--” Aoba begins. _You shouldn’t get used to it_ , he wants to say, but that’s no more than a knee jerk retort.

“Get used to it?” Noiz asks. His voice is a little cold, empty. Guarded.

Aoba shakes his head, nuzzling into Noiz. 

“I forgot what I was going to say,” Aoba lies. “Besides, I think I could kinda sorta, maybe, get used to this.”

“Only kinda sorta?”

“Don’t make me decide right now, you know that’s not fair.”

Noiz chuckles lightly, a pretty sound Aoba’s growing fond of the more he hears it.

“What if I sweeten the deal?”

Aoba lifts his head, squints in the dark to study Noiz’s face.

“Go on,” he prompts.

“You get to keep Julian. Forever.”

“Deal,” Aoba says quickly, the idea of never having to be hassled over that damn unicorn again too appealing to pass up.

Noiz’s teeth are a white grin in the dark. It takes a second for it to sink into Aoba that he’s effectively agreed to keep this up, whatever ‘this’ is.

“So you could get used to this?” Noiz says, hope edging his voice.

“Yeah, I could get used to this,” Aoba says, letting his hand come up to rest on Noiz’s chest, almost sure he can feel a heartbeat beneath his palm.

“Good,” Noiz says. “Because I could get used to it too.”


End file.
